PLACEBO

Image from paladinpost.com

We don’t talk about our pain, we are not meant to I am told.

You see we are so many of us,

The young and the old,
The rich and the poor,

The tall and the short,

Different, on both ends of every pole,

But what we share is the pain that needs healing.
We don’t talk about our pain when we come here,

We carry it with us as we enter its gates,

We sit on its chairs with our pain on the floor,

But as the minutes turn to hours,

 We begin to forget that we came with the pain,

Only to watch the clock strike Noon,

And we leave for the gates, carrying our pain along.
Today I came with my worries, 

And so did my neighbours too,

And while I saw Brother Sam dance this way and that,

And Sister Ego sing on the loudest pitch,

I too began to forget what laid on the floor beside me,

And I danced this way and that.

But as we retire to our various homes,

Brother Sam’s wife would whisper,

“Here Love, your lisinopril”

To which he would reply,

“Honey I am not Hypertensive, the Lord has taken it away”

And Sister Ego would see the reminder on her phone,

‘Tomorrow is a new course of Chemo’.

 And I would walk home to a step father who unzips at midnight, Every night.

They call the walls ‘Cathedral’

I call it placebo.

Come Sunday Morning, let’s take another placebo.